


All I wanna do is love your body

by lunasenzanotte



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Asphyxiation, Biting, Light BDSM, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Smut, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 08:23:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15725619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunasenzanotte/pseuds/lunasenzanotte
Summary: Šime makes an annoyed sound and closes his eyes, pressing his body into Dejan’s. “I’m not cute,” he says.“Sure you aren’t,” Dejan says, caressing his damp hair. “Just a little spoon and all.”





	All I wanna do is love your body

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt on footballkinkmeme which requested Dejan kissing Šime's cross tattoo during sex. I got a bit carried away, I think...

Šime doesn’t know why he always falls for the same trick, letting Dejan kiss him into oblivion and move him as he chooses. As soon as Šime’s eyes flutter shut, Dejan stretches over him and promptly cuffs his hands to the bed. Šime wants to kill him.

“Why?” he whines.

Dejan grins, settling back on Šime’s thighs, his hands resting casually on Šime’s hips, almost as if he’s admiring his work. “I love your cute little struggles,” he says.

Šime groans. “Shut up.”

Dejan tuts and smacks him on the side for good measure. “Mind the language.”

“Or what?” Šime asks, unwittingly performing another little struggle Dejan would probably call _cute_.

“Or I won’t fuck you.”

Šime bites his tongue. He definitely doesn’t want to find out whether Dejan means it.

“That’s more like it,” Dejan nods.

He buries his hand in Šime’s hair, looking for the best grip, because Dejan is picky like that. Once he finds it, he attacks Šime’s lips, turning his head to his liking. Šime offers just the tiniest amount of resistance to make it sting a little.

“You’re such a pain bitch,” Dejan chuckles, releasing his lips for a moment.

Šime answers with a wide grin. _Of course he is._

Dejan returns to kissing him, nibbling on his lips and occasionally biting down, making Šime jerk under his body, and probably enjoying it.

When Dejan finally lets go of his hair, Šime closes his eyes and allows his head to fall down, offering his bared neck to be submitted to Dejan’s torture. But Dejan continues his kisses down past his throat, sucking his collarbone and resting his teeth against it.

He usually worships Šime’s throat in a different way.

His lips trail down to the cross on Šime’s chest. And it’s there where he takes his time. He kisses and licks and nips, and then kisses and licks the bruises the ink will conveniently hide, taking all the freedom it gives him. Šime’s breath turns ragged. With every nip, his cock twitches with interest, reminding him of his own cravings.

“My nipple is a bit to the side,” Šime says then.

Dejan lifts his head and gives Šime “The Stare”. It usually means he’s giving him the last opportunity to shut up before he gets in real trouble.

“I’m sorry,” Šime says promptly.

Appeased, Dejan turns his attention to Šime’s nipples, teasing them with his tongue. Suddenly, he bites down, hard. Šime cries out, shuddering from the pain and pleasure. Dejan doesn’t lift his head, but Šime feels him smirk, before he returns to licking and nipping his way down to his stomach, stopping just above the place where Šime craves his mouth.

“Do you want it?” he asks.

“Yes,” Šime breathes out. “Please.”

Dejan smiles and runs his lips alongside Šime’s already painfully hard cock, from base to tip. He repeats the motion down the other side, like he’s testing which one is more sensitive. Šime moans, encouraging him to continue licking. As Dejan reaches the tip, his teeth begin to scrape, more a promise than a warning. Šime hears his own small, helpless noises, feels his own hips begging Dejan to take him into his mouth already.

“Patience,” Dejan reprimands him, digging his fingers into Šime’s hips, keeping them in place.

“Dejan, please…” Šime manages brokenly. 

Dejan shifts, placing his knees between Šime’s. He grips the base of his cock hard and finally wraps his lips around him and begins to suck gently. Too gently for Šime’s liking. He’s struggling to keep his hips still as Dejan takes more and more of his cock into his mouth, until Šime feels the back of his throat. He keeps still, then, almost like he’s mocking him. _Damn Dejan and his lack of gag reflex._

Dejan releases his cock and then swallows him whole, again, tantalizingly slowly. Šime fights against his bonds, his body desperately craving a change of rhythm, feeling his mounting climax deep in the core of his body. 

“No,” Dejan warns softly but firmly, like a mother stopping a child reaching for something he’s not allowed to touch.

Šime whines, but forces himself to take deep breaths. Dejan rewards him by speeding up, giving his tip short licks between sucking it. Šime writhes again.

“Dejan, I-I can’t… I’m gonna…”

“No.”

This time, Šime literally sobs. Dejan’s mouth hovers over his erection for long, long seconds, and then finally, Dejan pulls in, putting the whole of Šime’s cock into his throat. Šime cries out, feeling his toes curling and stomach spasming, but Dejan doesn’t pull away. He swallows, tongue and throat working, and only then looks up at Šime.

“We really need to work on your discipline,” he says, smirking.

He settles over Šime and kisses him deeply, making him taste himself on Dejan’s tongue. Šime arches into him, closing his eyes and moaning against his mouth, reveling in the moment of being completely sated.

He opens them again when Dejan’s hand wraps around his cock and begins stroking it. He gasps and arches. Dejan is naked, and Šime has no idea when it happened.

His other hand roams over Šime’s chest, fingers pressing into the tender bruises left by his teeth on all of the four edges of the cross. Then he reaches over for the bottle of lube on the nightstand and coats his fingers with the gel. His hand falls between Šime’s legs, caressing, not yet penetrating, and Šime arches his hips.

“Fuck me already,” he says.

“Hush,” Dejan snaps, without a doubt enjoying himself.

He slides a finger inside of him, finding his spot expertly. He laughs at another of Šime’s struggles and adds another finger, his other hand stroking Šime to complete hardness again.

“Please,” Šime whispers.

In one sudden move, Dejan pierces him to the core with his cock. Šime cries out of pleasure, pain and the surprise, faintly hearing Dejan’s low groan as he stills deep inside of him. Then Dejan rolls his hips into him and his hand comes to rest on Šime’s throat.

In Dejan’s opinion, Šime looks great with Dejan’s hand on his throat and Šime doesn’t dare to object because after all, he can’t know.

He fucks him slowly at first, his hand applying steady pressure that intensifies whenever Šime tries to raise his hips. He stares right into Šime’s eyes and there is something incredibly possessive in his gaze. Šime stares back, unable to do anything else, his wrists gone completely limp in his bonds. Dejan grips his cock again, stroking it viciously, and presses down on Šime’s throat, cutting his air for just the few crucial seconds.

Šime comes without a warning, and from Dejan’s gasp he can tell he has troubles containing his own pleasure as Šime tightens around him.

Then he releases Šime’s hands and turns him around.

Šime tries to lift himself on his elbows to eliminate the pressure on his still hard and sensitive cock, but Dejan crawls over him, effectively pushing him into the mattress. Then he buries himself back inside, thrusting deeper and harder into him. Šime whimpers, and Dejan’s hand finds his mouth, covering it as he moves his hips faster and faster.

Šime holds onto Dejan's arm for dear life, uttering short moans and whimpers against Dejan’s fingers. He feels droplets of sweat drip down the strands of hair falling in his eyes. Black spots are dancing in front of his vision. He hangs his head and feels his hand slide down Dejan’s arm.

“Hey!” Dejan says softly, turning him on his side. “Look at me.”

Šime tries his best to focus his eyes on him. Dejan’s face does look a bit blurry, but the black spots are gone for now.

“Are you okay?” Dejan asks.

Šime tries his best to nod. It’s surprisingly difficult to coordinate his mind and movements.

Dejan doesn’t look entirely convinced. He’s stopped moving altogether, just his hand is keeping a firm grip on Šime’s jaw, the only thing preventing his head from lolling to the side. “Tell me your safe word,” he commands.

Šime whines in frustration. He knows what Dejan is doing, knows that he needs to check whether Šime isn’t too far gone to object against anything he possibly wouldn’t like. He’s always so careful, and Šime loves him for it, except in the moments it’s actually happening and he hates him for it.

He forces his brain to find the last remnants of its activity. “Vanilla,” he chokes out. “Don’t… stop.”

Dejan doesn’t. He starts moving in him, faster now, like he’s chasing his own release. His moves falter every now and then and he grips Šime’s hips tighter. Šime’s mouth is open, he knows as much. His eyes are wide open as well, but he can’t see anything but white, and no sound is coming out of his mouth. He’s shaking. He’s coming. He’s possibly dying.

Dejan takes mercy on him and when he comes, he collapses next to him and not on top of him, because Šime wouldn’t have the strength to push him off.

His body is just a mass. The ecstasy has sucked all the life force out of him, he’s floating, sated and exhausted. Then he curls up and starts sobbing.

Dejan just wraps his arms around him, not alarmed or worried, because it’s not a strange phenomenon. He knows Šime usually cries when coming down from the high, and that it usually takes about two minutes until he falls asleep. He runs a hand over the cross on Šime’s chest.

“Can I keep you tied up until the end next time?” he asks. “You’d be _cute_.”

“Shut up,” Šime mumbles.

“I take it as _yes_ ,” Dejan chuckles.

Šime makes an annoyed sound and closes his eyes, pressing his body into Dejan’s. “I’m not _cute_ ,” he says.

“Sure you aren’t,” Dejan teases, caressing his damp hair. “Just a little spoon and all.”

But Šime is sound asleep, before he manages the last “Shut up.”


End file.
